Chapter 6
I didn't want to go to the competition anymore.
I sat on the edge of Aunt Denise's guest bed, staring at my backup prototype.
The blue tape on its battery compartment was peeling.
One corner of the casing had a tiny crack.
I had built it from parts I bought with birthday money.
Now adults in expensive suits were arguing about whether someone had stolen my work.
I felt too small for everything happening.
Dad knocked gently.
"Champ?"
I looked up.
"Yeah?"
He opened the door.
"Can I come in?"
I nodded.
He sat beside me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I whispered, "Maybe I should just quit."
Dad looked at me.
"Why?"
"Because people keep getting mad."
He frowned.
"At you?"
I nodded.
"First the flight attendant. Then those messages. Now Victor."
Dad took a slow breath.
"Malik, none of those things happened because you did something wrong."
I looked down.
"But if I hadn't entered the competition—"
He interrupted gently.
"No."
I looked at him.
He continued.
"Don't blame yourself for other people's choices."
My throat tightened.
I stared at SAFE SIGNAL.
"I just wanted to make something helpful."
Dad smiled sadly.
"And you did."
I wiped my eyes.
"Then why does everyone want to ruin it?"
He was quiet.
Then he said something I'll never forget.
"Because sometimes people see something good and think about what they can take from it instead of what they can contribute."
I looked at him.
"Like Grandpa said?"
Dad nodded.
"Exactly."
I leaned against him.
For a moment, I felt like crying.
Then I asked, "Are you going to make Victor give it back?"
Dad took a breath.
"We're going to use the proper legal process to protect your work."
I frowned.
"That sounds boring."
He laughed.
"It usually is."
I smiled weakly.
He continued.
"But boring, careful work is often what makes the truth impossible to ignore."
I thought about that.
Then I nodded.
"Okay."
The next morning, an attorney named Evelyn Brooks met us at Aunt Denise's apartment.
She specialized in intellectual property and business disputes.
She was calm.
Serious.
And she asked me more questions than anyone else had.
Not about my father.
Not about the threats.
About my invention.
"Malik, when did you start designing SAFE SIGNAL?"
I opened my notebook.
"Last summer."
She smiled.
"Can you show me?"
I turned to the first page.
There was a messy drawing of a little box with an antenna.
I felt embarrassed.
"It looks bad."
Evelyn shook her head.
"It looks like the beginning of an idea."
I smiled.
She examined the dates.
The sketches.
The test results.
The emails from my science teacher.
The videos Dad recorded while I worked.
Then she looked at me.
"You kept excellent records."
I sat straighter.
"Really?"
"Really."
Dad smiled proudly.
I felt warm inside.
For the first time in days, someone was talking about my work without making me feel frightened.
Evelyn continued.
"These records may help establish when you developed your design and what information was shared."
I nodded.
"Okay."
She looked toward Dad.
"We'll need qualified technical analysis before making claims about the other application."
Dad agreed.
"Absolutely."
I stared at her.
"Does that mean they might not have stolen it?"
She nodded.
"We need evidence. Similar ideas can exist independently. What matters is whether someone improperly used protected information or misrepresented someone else's work."
I appreciated her honesty.
I didn't want anyone accused unfairly.
Even Victor.
I wanted the truth.
That afternoon, the competition organizers completed their preliminary review.
They confirmed my backup prototype was safe to demonstrate.
They also allowed me to continue participating while the security investigation proceeded.
I felt relieved.
Then nervous.
The competition was the next morning.
I had barely practiced since the airplane incident.
Dad noticed.
"Want to rehearse?"
I nodded.
We moved the coffee table aside.
Aunt Denise sat on the couch.
Dad stood near the window.
I placed SAFE SIGNAL on a small table.
Then I began.
"Good morning. My name is Malik Bennett, and I created SAFE SIGNAL to help people communicate during emergencies."
My voice shook.
I stopped.
Dad smiled.
"Take your time."
I swallowed.
Then started again.
I explained the transmitter.
The receiver.
The alert system.
How it could be useful when ordinary communication channels were unavailable.
I described the limitations too.
The short range.
The battery life.
The need for further testing.
Then I reached the part about Grandpa.
My throat closed.
I looked at his photograph.
"Grandpa told me about being trapped during a hurricane."
My eyes filled.
I tried to continue.
But couldn't.
Aunt Denise stood.
She walked toward me.
"Baby, it's okay."
I wiped my face.
"I keep crying."
Dad approached.
"Because you miss him."
I nodded.
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"There's nothing wrong with that."
I looked at SAFE SIGNAL.
Grandpa had believed in me.
Even when the first prototype failed.
Even when I accidentally burned out a circuit board.
He'd laugh and say, "Well, now you know one way not to build it."
I smiled through tears.
Then I started again.
This time, I finished.
Dad applauded.
Aunt Denise cheered.
I laughed.
For the first time, I felt excited again.
That evening, Evelyn called with an update.
The airline's internal investigation had identified additional messages sent through Victor's management account.
Some concerned my seat assignment.
Others referenced the competition and my father's planned review of the technology proposal.
Dad listened carefully.
I sat beside him.
"What does that mean?"
Evelyn answered gently.
"It means investigators have more evidence to examine."
Dad asked whether Victor had responded.
She explained that Victor had been placed on administrative leave while the company reviewed the matter.
His access to certain systems had been restricted.
I felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness.
I remembered Victor giving me that model airplane.
I had kept it on my bookshelf for years.
Now I wondered whether he'd ever really cared about me.
Dad noticed my expression.
"Malik?"
I looked up.
"Do you think Victor hates me?"
His face softened.
"I don't know what he feels."
I swallowed.
"But whatever he feels doesn't change your value."
I nodded.
I was starting to understand that.
Then Dad's phone rang again.
It was Mr. Whitmore.
He sounded urgent.
Dad listened.
"What?"
I sat straighter.
He stood.
"Are you certain?"
My stomach tightened.
Dad looked toward Evelyn.
Then at me.
"What happened?" I whispered.
He covered the phone.
"Claire has agreed to provide a formal statement."
I stared.
"The flight attendant?"
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
He listened for another moment.
Then his expression changed.
I recognized that look.
Something important had happened.
He ended the call.
I stepped closer.
"Dad?"
He looked at me.
"Claire says Victor didn't simply ask her to move you."
My heart raced.
"What did he ask?"
Dad's voice became cold.
"He told her to make sure you missed the flight."
I stopped breathing.
Missed the flight.
Missed the competition.
Missed my chance to present SAFE SIGNAL.
May you like
And suddenly, everything made sense.
Someone had wanted me gone before I could show the world what I'd built.
